


I've Got You (Under My Skin)

by Adenil



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Frottage, Helicarrier Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you know what it means if we get caught?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got You (Under My Skin)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from [Tumblr](http://adenil-umano.tumblr.com/post/122358691025/do-you-know-what-it-means-if-we-get-caught).

“Do you know what it means if we get caught?” 

They’re in some weird little corner of the Helicarrier, far away from prying eyes. The nearest camera is just around the corner and if they aren’t careful they could spill out into the hall and give Fury an eyeful. Bruce currently has Clint against him, already panting, desperate, mouthing along his neck as he whines.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Clint says. He trails his lips along Bruce’s neck and Bruce shudders. “God, I know. Steve said one more black mark and I’m off the team, but  _Jesus_ , Bruce.”

Bruce can only laugh, high and thready, as Clint shoves his hands up under his shirt, resting his thumbs at the points of Bruce’s hip bones. “I think riling up the Hulk counts as a black mark.”

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” Clint insists and, oh, oh, he’s using teeth now. Just a hint of coiled strength, solid, firm, a suggestion that he may bite if only he were allowed to leave marks. “I’ve got you.”

Bruce doesn’t whine at that, but he does let out a manly groan as he wraps his arms around Clint and tugs him closer. Really, it isn’t  _fair_. He should be able to have this without sneaking off to hidden corners, without struggling to stay standing so they don’t slump into the hallway, without suppressing his moans into little puffs of air. Silence. No noise. Don’t get too excited.

“This is dangerous,” he warns, but it’s muffled by Clint’s kiss.

Clint kisses him like he can’t breathe without him. Like Bruce is cool air rushing past his face as he parachutes from a dead airplane. Like Bruce is soft, smooth grass, lemonade sweet and sticky on a hot summer’s day. Like he has all the time in the world and no time at all to communicate love and desperation and need.

And Bruce kisses back because it’s  _Clint_. He needs Clint. Needs contact and skin under his fingertips as he peels off Clint’s uniform. The ugly, purple monstrosity hangs from Clint’s shoulders and Bruce leans down to kiss the muscles there as Clint fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, resting his lips on Bruce’s neck and mouthing. Bruce is so turned on he can’t breathe right, but he forces himself to focus. One heartbeat after another. Relax.

Clint shoves his shirt off his shoulders and laps at the freckles on Bruce’s shoulders with his tongue, hungry, desperate sounds buried in Bruce’s skin. “Bruce, need you, need you, come  _on_.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to say, “I’ve got you,” and wriggle against Clint enticingly. He forces a hand up under the weird skirt on Clint’s uniform. Clint is hard there, waiting for Bruce’s hand, and Clint groans as Bruce gives it to him.

The angle’s awkward, the moment stressful, but Bruce gives Clint what he needs because he needs  _Clint_. Needs Clint kissing him, running his hands over his chest, trailing through chest hair and rubbing both thumbs over his nipples until they’ve pebbled, begging for a mouth. Needs Clint bowing his head to lap at them, his other hand raising to cover Bruce’s mouth and muffle the pleasured moans Bruce didn’t know he was making.

Clint presses hard on Bruce’s mouth, which is all the more license for Bruce to be louder, really. He’s practically shouting by the time Clint bats his hand away and fits their hips together, the hard expanse of his thigh perfect for Bruce to rut against. Clint plasters himself against Bruce and bites again at his neck.

“Wish I, wish I could…”

“I know,” Bruce tries to say, it comes out wordless.

Bruce’s head is singing and he can’t see straight. All he knows is the skin under his fingertips, the thick weight of Clint against his leg, the strength of feeling  _connected_  burning in his veins alongside radiation and anger. Clint picks him up, practically shoving him up the wall as they move together, and Bruce thinks vaguely that he will have wall-burn on his back later but it’s worth it. Worth it when Clint presses harder on his mouth and turns his face into Bruce’s neck, gasping as he comes, hot and sticky, all over his uniform.

Clint maneuvers a sloppy, sex-drunk hand to rub madly at Bruce, stroking and stroking as Bruce writhes and kisses at his hand, tips his head back. “Come on,” Clint demands, voice still needy with lust. “Let me see you, come on.”

Bruce gives it to him because he can’t  _not_. His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s not sure if he’s seeing grey or green–grey, let it be grey–as he whites out with pleasure. When he comes back he’s slumping into Clint and Clint is kissing his temple.

“Whoa,” Clint says, and Bruce agrees.

Bruce turns and kisses Clint slowly, murmuring against his lips lies he knows he can’t follow. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” Clint says, kissing back.

“It’s dangerous. I almost lost it that time.”

“I could tell,” Clint admits. He sounds sheepish. “Your voice got all–It doesn’t matter.” He holds Bruce close, breathes in his hair, and says, “I need you anyway.”

Bruce holds him tight, dreading the moment when they have to step back into the cameras. When they have to keep a professional distance. No shared looks, no hesitant touches. Not on a boat of spies. “I need you,” he says. His voice cracks like a shot. 

They stand there, swaying, counting down the seconds until reality imposes itself again.


End file.
